Chapter 18 Alex & Kaitlyn #2
“It is. I remember when he came back from Harvard at the end of the last semester. You were in California. I remember him moping around the house for a week until eventually I demanded to know what was wrong. He told me how much he regretted letting you go, and it was only then that he realized how happy he’d been with you in his life.
The two of you getting back together was all he wanted, and if he’s spoiled that again by his obsession over work…
well, that’s a terrible shame, Kaitlyn.”
Kaitlyn felt a lump in her throat. Alex had said these things to her, of course, but to know they were true, that he really did regret the way he’d behaved, made her wonder if he’d be feeling that way again this time.
What was he thinking now? What was he going to do?
She’d heard nothing from him since that last message, and yet the secret of the pregnancy weighed heavily on her.
“It’s kind of you to tell me,” Kaitlyn said, fighting back the tears.
“I want you both to be happy,” Michaela replied. “You deserve as much.”
Back at her mom’s house, which Kaitlyn had to keep reminding herself was her house now, she sat and brooded.
She couldn’t avoid telling Alex the truth.
Not for much longer. It wasn’t fair. She missed him.
She missed Alex the mathlete, Alex who drove an old rust bucket called Betsy, Alex who thought the drive-thru was the height of romance.
She missed the man behind the money, the one she’d caught glimpses of at the wedding and back in New York, when, for just a short while, his mind hadn’t been elsewhere.
But how could she tell him that? Was he even thinking of her now?
It felt selfish to think like that, arrogant, even, and yet Kaitlyn wanted him to fight for her.
She loved him, and she very much hoped he loved her, too.
I’ve got to call him. I can’t put it off forever.
Taking out her phone, she hovered her finger over the thumbnail picture of the two of them together, smiling, in the restaurant on that first night in New York. It brought tears to her eyes, even if she couldn’t bring herself to call him. Feeling angry at her own fear, she pressed call.
“Hi, you’ve reached the personal phone of Alex Lancaster. For work-related enquiries, please contact my office. For anything else, leave a message.”
Kaitlyn sighed. He was probably working.
She needed to speak to him. It wasn’t something she could put in a text.
Hi, hope you’re well. I’m well. BTW, I’m pregnant.
She was being flippant, but it was the truth.
Even saying it over the phone seemed like the easy way out.
They needed to talk in person. The argument they’d had shouldn’t have happened.
Kaitlyn had been upset; Alex had been tired.
It had all gotten out of hand. They should be celebrating the fact of bringing a new life into the world.
Kaitlyn had always wanted to be a mom, and the loss of her own mom had brought that into focus.
Life was short, and happiness wasn’t a guarantee.
She tried calling Alex again, but it was the same message.
She didn’t leave a voicemail. What would she say?
It was frustrating, the not knowing. That’s what Kaitlyn found hardest. She wanted to know if he actually cared about what she’d done.
Was he ever going to contact her? The thought was going around and around in her head.
It was awful. Again, she tried calling him, and, for the third time, the voicemail message played.
“Alex, it’s me,” she said, before faltering and hanging up.
What was she supposed to say? Words had failed her, and her emotions were overwhelming her.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sobbed, clutching at a cushion as she wept for what should have been, regretting the hastiness of her departure, and wondering if she should admit defeat and return.
It was all getting too much: the breakup, the baby, the future.
What was she going to do? It was then that a knock came at the door.
Kaitlyn sighed. She assumed it was Rachel coming for further commiserating.
It was kind of her, but sometimes Rachel could be overbearing, particularly when she had cause to take the moral high ground.
For a moment, Kaitlyn considered not answering it, glancing at her phone and expecting Rachel’s name to flash up on the screen, calling from the porch.
With a sigh, she rose from the couch to answer it.
Rachel would only grow more persistent if she didn’t.
She could see the figure outlined through the frosted glass in the window of the door.
It wasn’t Rachel. It was too big to be Rachel, and whoever it was held something.
Perhaps it’s my things from the New York studio.
Kaitlyn had arranged for her materials and half-finished pieces, including the sculpture of the two figures, to be couriered from New York. She was keen to get back to working as soon as possible, though recent events had seen her enthusiasm for art sapped.
“Coming,” she called out as a second, more persistent, knock came at the door.
But as she opened it, Kaitlyn gasped, surprised to see not a delivery driver, but Alex, standing on the porch, holding a bunch of roses in his hand.
He looked different. There was no suit or tie, no polished shoes, no laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
He was wearing a sweater and jeans, with a pair of loafers.
For a moment, she stared at him in astonishment.
“Hi,” he said, holding out the flowers to her. “Can we talk?”